


Caresses and Kisses

by Insomniackid7



Category: RWBY
Genre: Attentive NB!Blake, F/F, Romantic Weiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2455994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomniackid7/pseuds/Insomniackid7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every touch has a reason spoken in a silent language. Those in love can hear the meaning behind the words</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caresses and Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Blake Belladonna (They/them pronouns), Weiss Schnee (She/her pronouns).

Blake’s hands never left her.

Most would think that this would be natural, given the act, but it always seemed to be different with Blake. But then again, everything was different when it came to Blake. They were normally so mellow, aloof, distant even.

But not with Weiss, not now, and never any other time this happened.

Tanned hands traced her skin as if it were the greatest Egyptian cotton on the planet. Blake’s claws carefully tracing, moving from her cheeks to caress her neck, her sides next, gripping and massaging her thighs before one hand glided to her back, tracing the indent of her spine. Strength harnessed from years of training lifted her forward and onto her stomach using only that arm as a fulcrum. Weiss’ shoulders were paid loving attention, from the tips at the bottom to the top, before easing to the small of her back. Blake’s other hand slipping down to hold her hips or fingertips lightly stroking her fire, drawing out whatever reaction they could.

Weiss loved the gentle caresses. The Faunus made her feel like the most loved woman in the world, as if she was god in Blake’s eyes and they wanted to pay tribute. Every movement of their hands had purpose, fueled by a heady mixture of love and lust. Strong hands bared her to the world and broke Weiss down into parts before putting back together with the care of a watchmaker. They must have had every skin cell memorized by this point, but it wasn’t like Weiss hadn’t memorized theirs.

Both Weiss and Blake’s skin were indented in scars, badges of honors among the Hunters and Huntresses. Some were light and old and barely visible, some dark and deep, a clashing color on skin that eventually became accepted as part of them. Blake and Weiss would sometimes dedicate most of the foreplay to touching skin and brushing over scars in a silent but mutual understanding that the other was just happy you were here. So glad you made it home to them.

Home from the field, from the forests, from the streets, from the hospital.

The scars held stories. Sometimes Weiss thought it was the most romantic thing in the world to see two marks etched into pale and tanned skin move against each other, memoirs of adrenaline and emotion moving past one another trading words and history with one another. Stories written in the language of lines and blood, some were imprinted on the mind but Weiss could see through the mental walls to see those ones unencrypted.

She was sure Blake could do the same.

It was about being laid bare and trusting the other to not betray both trust and vulnerability.

It was one of the reasons Weiss let Blake stroke the scar over her eye. Blake would never her betray her, unlike the one who burned her with the mark in the first place.

Hands on skin, as if they only existed for acting as an anchor for Weiss. The bed could be shaking or the floor scratched, no matter how rough, Blake was holding her, kissing her all over the place to places her hands couldn’t when they were preoccupied. Weiss had lost count of how many times a gentle kiss and dedicated hands were her downfall. Those lips could help form the filthiest words, yet the lips themselves would always remain gentle and innocent.

Butterfly kisses on the back of her neck, her ear, her collarbone, her thigh, the palm of her hand, everywhere. Of all of them, her favorite one is when Blake’s hands ran up, leaving delighted lightning in their wake, until large hands cupped her face and brought her close enough as they leaned forward to kiss on her forehead. Blake would contort themselves to make up for the height difference only to make sure that as rough and fast or as gentle and loving they may go, they won’t stop loving her, their love was always a constant.

Even after, when the two huntresses were bundled into a single ball interconnected at several points—so much so the two were almost one being—did Blake sign off the night with a kiss to the forehead or the back of the head and holding her closer.

Weiss read once that a forehead kiss meant “deep affection”.


End file.
